


Perhaps

by simoneallen



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-01
Updated: 2012-03-01
Packaged: 2017-11-16 04:30:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simoneallen/pseuds/simoneallen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House tries to figure out why he loves Wilson. Set just after the events of the Season 4 episode, 97 Seconds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perhaps

Reasons not to love him:

1\. He blow dries his hair and wears toenail polish  
2\. He owns an excessive number of ridiculous silk ties and French leather shoes  
3\. He has three ex-wives, all of whom still care about him  
4\. He knows the words to songs from _Chorus Line_  
5\. Everyone loves him, but only he loves me  
6\. He nags me about drugs and complains when I call him to pick me up at 3am  
7\. He is sympathetic, thoughtful and compassionate  
8\. Nearly all his patients die, and he cares about each and every one of them  
9\. When he tells them they’re dying, they say ‘thank you’  
10\. He is my conscience

Reasons to love him:

1\. He lets me steal his food  
2\. He makes the best macadamia nut pancakes in the world  
3\. He goes to see monster trucks with me  
4\. He lied to the cops and tried to get himself jailed in my place, even though he wouldn’t last five minutes inside  
5\. He told the cops the truth, even though he knew I’d hate him for it  
6\. He kidnapped my guitar  
7\. He gives his patients marijuana  
8\. There were 3,000 people at the conference where I first saw him, and he was the only one who wasn’t boring  
9\. He’s still not boring  
10\. His name is **J** ames **E** van **W** ilson, and that never ceases to make me smile

Dr. Gregory House stared at the lists on the white board, his head tilted to one side like a curious bird, bright blue eyes reading the words over and over again to try to work out what he’d missed. If there was ever a differential diagnosis that should be easy, then this one was it.

Instead of the multiple symptoms he was presented with when he took on a patient, here there was only one. He knew he loved Wilson, today he’d even told him that he loved him, but there had to be a reason for it. There was always a diagnosis, always an explanation, and it was not in his nature to rest until he’d found it. It wasn’t enough to know a patient was dying or how to cure it, he had to find out why. Even if they were dead already, he still had to know. And for every reason to love Wilson there was one to not. So what was it that made it love rather than not love?

The man was infuriating in so many ways. His pathological need to save everyone, to help them, to be liked by them, to push anything darker so deep down that when it finally came out, it was in an explosion of frustration and smashed glass.

A case in point: Today, Wilson said House should never have told a dying patient there was no afterlife because he had no proof that there wasn’t.

“You can’t let a dying man take solace in his beliefs?” he’d yelled. “It’s over. He’s got days, maybe hours left. What pain does it cause you if he spends that time with a peaceful smile? What sick pleasure do you get from making sure he’s filled with fear and dread? You don’t know there’s nothing,” he’d added. “You haven’t been there.”

House needed to know, so he stuck a penknife in a wall socket.

****

“You’re an idiot.” Wilson hovered over him as he lay in the hospital bed. House could see the anger and the fear and all that Wilson wanted to say to him but “you’re an idiot” was all that came out.

Even when House goaded him, blamed him - “you insisted that I needed to see it for myself” - Wilson didn’t shout and scream, but the lines of his neck were so drawn and tight.

“You wanted to kill yourself?” Wilson asked quietly.

“I wanted to nearly kill myself,” House told him. He couldn’t have left it alone. It wasn’t in his nature. He knew he was right; and this is all there is. And he proved it.

Wilson dipped his head and wrote him a scrip for more pain meds. 

House’s hand hurt because he’d burned it. His chest hurt because his heart had stopped. “I love you,” he said.

Wilson didn’t say anything. He swallowed hard and his eyes darted away. House noticed the wetness. House noticed everything.

But he must be missing something now. 

He didn’t turn as he heard the door open. He knew who it was from the sound of the footsteps crossing the room and coming to a stop next to him.

There was silence for a moment, then: “You forgot that I have a cute smile and a gorgeous ass,” Wilson said.

“It can’t be just that,” House frowned at the board.

There was more silence and House could almost hear the thoughts whirring in his best friend’s head. He still didn’t look at Wilson, but reached out to add ‘cute smile’ and ‘gorgeous ass’ to one list. Then he added ‘puppy dog eyes’ and ‘eats salad’ to the other.

They were still even. He sighed and finally turned toward the other doctor. “I can’t figure it out,” he said.

“And that has to be driving you crazy.”

Then suddenly Wilson was kissing him like he’d just come back from the dead, which he had.

Wilson’s hands were all over him. Wilson's tongue was in his mouth and Wilson was clutching at him and making desperate little noises in the back of his throat.

It was all so very unexpected because - despite the hair, and the musicals, and the jokes - he had never really suspected this, and Wilson had taken him by surprise.

Perhaps that was the reason.

The End


End file.
